


The First Days of the War Doctor

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Time War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having only just entered the Great Time War, the Doctor finds his own people unwilling to trust him after he abandoned them to their fate. Somehow he must persuade them he is reliable, all the while going against everything he always stood for and believed in, all the while losing exactly what makes him the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Days of the War Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of undetermined number, it will be a HAPPY-GO-LUCKY FIC AS ALWAYS CAN'T YOU JUST TELL BY THE SUMMARY SORRY I'M SO SHIT AT SUMMARIES. It's not going to be long, won't go into as much depth regarding the Time War as others do, just the War Doctor's first few days on the job.

_The fleet itself was only small, perhaps 1000 mediocre, ageing, near antique Daleks strong in total, all contained within five undersized ships. Against a more well-equipped, modern force, even he knew he wouldn't stand a chance. This group were finished, past it, an outpost that never expected to be challenged guarding a border they never anticipated to be crossed. Of course, this was why an ambush party from Gallifrey had been sent out, unbeknown to the aforementioned Dalek fleet, virtually undetectable unless you knew how to look. He knew they were there. Which was why it was important this went well, it would act as his credentials before his home planet's army. Hopefully they would go along with it. Hopefully._

 

_Opening a communication channel to the Dalek ships, he smiled grimly. Antagonising one's opponent, rarely wise, still, he had never claimed to be anything but an idiot. A Doctor. The Doctor, once upon a time. This was a bad idea. He thought of Susan, and knew she would scold him endlessly if she ever found out._

 

_If she survived the calamity that was about to rattle through all of time and space, tearing existence apart and ripping reality limb from limb. A Great Time War._

 

_At the end of the day, it was Susan he was doing this for. Susan. Earth. Sarah-Jane, the Brigadier, Dr Grace Holloway, Fitz, Charley... Cass. _ **And all the children of Gallifrey.**

 

“ _WHO IS THIS?” roared the Dalek voice, in trademark welcoming, friendly fashion._

 

**I'm sorry** _the warrior thought, sending a silent apology to everyone he had ever known and loved._

 

“ _You would know me as the Doctor,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I will give you two options: retreat into the temporal anomaly off your starboard bow, destroying yourselves, or die by my hand.”_

 

_An ominous silence. “YOU...LIE!” shrieked the enraged,_ _ terrified  _ _enemy “THE DOCTOR IS A COWARD. HE FLED THE BATTLEFIELD SO HE WOULD NOT HAVE TO KILL. HE...IS WEAK!”_

 

“ _Yes, well, no more,” the warrior responded bluntly “No more.”_

 

_Another silence. With a single deft movement he cut off communications, watching the reactions of the Daleks to this terrible dilemma._

 

_He looked into the reflective surface of his control screen and he did not recognise the face. Flicking a switch, he turned the screen on – and so the days of the War Doctor began._

 

 

 

_-_

 

 

 

By nature, Commander Raskin was not a superstitious person. He had no desire to ascribe emotions to their opponents; Daleks were Daleks, and that was that. Still, he found it unsettling watching all rationale and reason break from their patterns as they descended into what a lesser man might describe as blind terror. If he didn't know better, he'd say they were afraid, but as any child of 90 knew, Daleks didn't feel fear. Daleks didn't feel fear, he kept reminding himself, reminding his troops. Daleks were the ultimate adversary and there was to be no quarter. This was to the death – preferably the children of Skaro, but the Commander wasn't bothered.

 

From a tactical perspective, the change in behaviour was concerning. Normally, Daleks adhered to strict, sensible rules, cruel and coldly logical in their precision as they stuck to tight, near impenetrable formations everyone with any sense avoided; or at least had the know-how to set up a decent ambush. Which happened to be what the Commander was planning, funnily enough. But now he was torn. He could call in the strike regardless, trust his soldiers to do their best and liquidate their scattering foe. Or he could cling to his gut feeling, the irrational instinct that there was something wrong, something unshakably _more_ to this than at first there seemed. It could be a trap. It could be bait. The Commander held off, hushing the dissenters on his staff and trying to quell the atmosphere of unease that permeated throughout the bridge crew, to no avail. So...what now? If they lingered here, the Dalek fleet could potentially spot them, they could reform and mount an assault on the Gallifreyan forces lying in wait who, without the crucial element of surprise would be completely vulnerable.

 

And if it wasn't already a trap, it would become a massacre either way.

 

The question remained; if it was in actuality not a trap, what then was going on? Were the Daleks genuinely exhibiting _fear_? Surely not. That was only a child's story. Anyone with more than half a brain knew that to Daleks, any emotion was abhorrent, and so they had removed them carefully, until only pure hatred was left. Raw, unadulterated hatred, and the desire to destroy everything that was not _theirs._ If Daleks did feel fear, what could possibly frighten a Dalek? Commander Raskin didn't want to find out. Unless, on an off chance, whatever _this_ was was on Gallifrey's side. The side of the righteous.

 

He was about to dismiss his peculiar feeling and order the attack to commence anyway when the lead Dalek ship exploded, the reverberations shaking the Commander's own vessel violently. His subordinates were thrown over and he himself had to cling to the handrails desperately. Looking up through the one-way transparent ceiling, he saw the brilliant golden wreck blazing above him, the remains taking out one of the other Dalek ships in its wild spin out of control. Turning to Astinaire on the detector screens, he tried to make sense of what was going on, to adapt to this new variable.

 

“What do you see?” he yelled. The junior officer shrugged.

 

“Nothing sir...wait wait, we're getting a signal. It's...not possible, sir.”

 

“What is it, dammit?” he barked, rushing over to the monitors. There _was_ a light on one of them, recognisable by its registration as...

 

“A Time Capsule, sir. Archaic in nature. The kind the Time Lords back home phased out centuries ago.”

 

_What?_

 

Vinna on the high-vis screens cheered excitably. Before the Commander could reprimand her, put her on a disciplinary, she apologised, nervous of the consequences to her behaviour. “Sorry sir it's just, well, I heard you say archaic capsule and I thought I just saw something blue. An awful lot like...” her voice lowered “AnEarthpoliceboxfromthe1960s.” she took a deep breath, recognising the fury on the Commander's face. “And I know what that means, sir, I know that can't be. I'm sorry. I just forgot myself sir.” Saluting, she turned back to her station.

 

Sudden anger filled the Commander's clouded mind. Oh, if the Dalek's feared anything it just _had_ to be him. The traitor. When war had been declared, the Doctor had abandoned his people. How many defeats could have been avoided had he stood his ground? How many victories could have been entirely bloodless? Could it be that he was indeed here, at long last, overdue and-

 

And taking on an entire Dalek fleet alone, all by himself. He who was a notoriously scornful pacifist, to the point of cowardice.

 

“ _Rassilon above_ ,” he heard Vinna murmur. “It _is,_ sir.” A look of thrilled ecstasy came onto her face; Astinaire too was watching the screens in awe. The rest of the crew stared up, transfixed by the spectacle above. A tiny blue box, darting in an out between the floating ships, running rings around them. “It's the Doctor.”

 

(“He's real?” one of the younger crew-members whispered to a peer “I always thought he was a myth. Kid's stuff.” _If only that were true_ )

 

Abruptly, the Commander realised the remaining Dalek ships were _fleeing,_ driven right into the path of an appalling temporal anomaly that had given the Gallifreyans a devil of a time getting there. Chewed up, digested, only to be spat out in mangled forms throughout time, twisted and tortured beyond all recognition. A chill ran down the Commander's spine. This was not like the Doctor at all. Now that his quarry were destroyed, burning up in the incandescent fires of the anomaly, the Doctor turned his attention towards his own people, dematerialising at one site, rematerialising right before their eyes almost simultaneously, an unhealthy wheezing coming from his Time Capsule. They...weren't supposed to make that noise, the Commander knew for certain.

 

“Weapons at the ready!” ordered the Commander, crushing his own feelings of fear and doubt. Vinna began to object. “Lieutenant, the Doctor is a notorious renegade, a habitual liar and traitor to Gallifrey...his reliability cannot be guaranteed.”

 

“He just wiped out an entire fleet! Single-handed! The Daleks killed themselves rather than stand and face _him_!”

 

“They were poorly equipped and weren't expecting him. That won't happen again. They'll have made a report before eliminating themselves, their superiors will be ready in future. Right now, the renegade is our responsibility. We must contain him and escort him back to Gallifrey where he can stand trial for his treason.”

 

The TARDIS finished materialising and stood there, a deep blue not naturally found on Gallifrey, unmoving as everyone at hand pointed their blasters at its tightly sealed doors. There was a creak as one of them opened gradually, a little man with a small beard and greying hair stepping out. A far cry from the typical, traditional, _normal_ Time Lords in their long robes with high collars, the Doctor defied all rules and order by wearing a scruffy leather jacket, bandoleer across his chest as badge of a warrior. In his left hand, there was a Dalek eyestalk, something few in the room had ever seen in such close proximity. He surveying the room with serious, intense eyes, pulling a face at the armed soldiers.

 

“Oh for heaven's sake!” he rolled his eyes incredulously “Is this really necessary?”

 

Most of the people in the Gallifreyan military were the rejects from the Academy, those who had never met entry requirements, or had been drafted as soon as they were able to fire a weapon. The only interaction they would have had with actual, qualified Time Lords was with the occasional pompous official, perhaps a distant cousin or two the family lauded over. To these soldiers, Time Lords were as removed from themselves as mountains, figures worthy of respect, as chilly as glaciers and twice as majestic. What little they knew of the Doctor went against all of this. He had saved all of reality before now, so it was said. He had been Lord President, had been offered the role again on several occasions, but had fled. At the end of the day, that was what he was known for, the iconic image of a madman in a box, stealing away with a past-it Mark 40 TARDIS, had permeated throughout Gallifreyan culture. Especially with the young, to whom he was almost a folk hero, a rebel standing proud against the oppressive aggressors of authority, a figure whom children automatically felt kinship with. Commander Raskin himself had never found the story compelling, unlike everybody else aboard his vessel, apparently. Lieutenant Vinna looked starstruck. Astinaire's eyes shone bright with joy, with enthusiastic hope. Of course; now the Doctor was here, how could they lose? Or so the thinking seemed to go. To pin that much faith on one man was deeply illogical.

 

The Commander approached his prisoner cautiously. Even heavily outnumber – especially then – this elderly-looking gentleman was still easily the most dangerous person aboard. His prisoner met the glares shot at him with ease. Instead as appearing threatened by the vast show of force, he seemed impatient. Inconvenience. He raised his eyebrows.

 

“Well? Are you lot going to put your toys away?”

 

“My Lord Doctor...” the Commander began, to a disdainful snort from the Time Lord.

 

“None of that. We have rather better things to do than engage in _petty formalities_ don't we now?”

 

“Indeed we do, Doctor. We will be escorting you back to Gallifrey under armed guard. As soon as our replacements arrive – Lieutenant, send for reinforcements please – you will be returned home to a formal trial.”

 

The Doctor deflated a little, seeming disappointed. “I wouldn't say that was called for, really I-”

 

“You _what?!_ You thought you could desert, leave your own people to suffer and die while you lark about with your precious _humans,_ did you now? You are the reason there _are_ Daleks. You are the reason they came after _us._ And now you think you can just 'pop back', take out a couple of Dalek ships and we'll welcome you home with open arms? My _daughter_ was killed in an attack last year. She was barely a century old. So what do you think of _that, Doctor?_ ”

 

Swallowing, the Doctor turned away, closing the door of the TARDIS fully. When he turned back, he didn't even look like the same man. His eyes had hardened, his face become grizzled and fierce.

 

“You're right. I _was_ a coward. All I ever did was run away. But no more, do you hear me? I promise that, if you drop me off at the nearest Command Centre, rather than hauling me off, I will fight, for all of you. The Doctor was a name I took, an old promise, no longer suitable for a time like this. No more, I swear to you. No more will I stand by and let your families die. The universe is in pain, and so I say these words – _No. More._ ”

 

Vinna nodded. “No more,” she said, lowering her gun, to the Commander's irritation. This was mutiny!

 

“No more.” Astinaire returned to his station, washing his hands of the matter.

 

“No more.”

“No more.”

“No more.”

 

Slowly, the Commander became aware he was the only one still raising his weapon. Relenting, he allowed the renegade past him, accepting that, when the time came, this farce would not be his responsibility. The Doctor had swayed everyone with words, once again emphasising exactly _why_ he was so dangerous.

“No more,” Raskin whispered, searching up the contact details of the nearest Control Centre, writing out a frantic message explaining certain aspects of the situation – omitting, of course, the Doctor's presence to avoid looking like a fellow traitor. _“No more.”_

 


End file.
